


Swords and Sorcery

by Raven_Ember



Category: Star Ocean: The Last Hope, Star Ocean: Till the End of Time
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fantasy, Gen, M/M, Mpreg, Multi, Violence, Xenophilia, implied sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2017-12-20 21:16:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/891959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_Ember/pseuds/Raven_Ember
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was to be a reunion, a chance for everyone to see each other and catch up . . . only things never go according to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Mpreg! First and foremost, that is everyone's warning. If it's a squick for you, please head back out. However, if you feel the need to flame me for this, go right ahead. I need the flames for roasting marshmallows and keeping the house warm this upcoming winter. XD Other warnings: sexual situations, male/male relationships, magic, science-fiction and fantasy settings, language, war and violence.

Chains of black iron bound him by both his wrists and his ankles, the edges chaffing and digging into his flesh, drawing blood every time he tried to adjust them for the sake of comfort. A dark brown robe of heavy and itchy wool covered his body, a hood pulled over his head and obscuring his vision. With the exception of the robe, he wore no other clothing. Even his feet were bare.

Where he'd landed, Fayt possessed no idea. He only recalled the faintest of memories from before the crash. He knew he had entered an escape pod, but he didn't remember the reasons for why he'd done such a thing. He recalled seeing the darkness of space and the shimmering lights of distant stars. Flashing lights then surrounded him, knocking the escape pod around the way a cat knocked around an acorn or toy ball, and he'd been jostled about violently. The throbbing, dull pain above his right eye probably had something to do with the gaps in his memory. Given the pain and the fuzzy-headedness it brought him, the young man believed he had hit his head at the moment of impact and fell unconscious. For how long, he would never know. He only knew that, upon regaining consciousness, he found himself surrounded by people, and they had stripped him of everything, including his sword and his translator, the latter laying in pieces at his side. The moment he awakened, they garbed him in the robe and shackled him like the prisoner he obviously knew that he was.

At least, he _thought_ they were people, the ones treating him like a captive. It was hard to say since he saw no distinguishable features. Those surrounding him were robed entirely in black, the cowls pulled over their faces, the fabric flitting across the ground, and their hands gloved. They were also a foot or so taller than he. His captors had been dressed similarly, the one distinction being the spears aimed at his throat, their covered hands never wavering. Of the small group walking, only his hands remained bare, and he now saw chains attached to the manacles around his ankles and wrists. There were four, which meant there were at least four guarding him and guiding him to whatever destination they had in mind.

Fayt blinked and tried to shake his head clear of his current muddled feeling, well aware of the sticky sensation of dried blood around his eye and down the right side of his face. The ground underneath his feet chilled him, burned him with its icy touch yet he saw no snow within his limited range of vision. Rocks dug into his feet, cutting them and causing them to bleed. Fayt nearly fell at first, but his captors had not allowed such a thing to happen. The chains tugged at him, keeping him upright, if somewhat unbalanced, and someone pressed the tip of a spear into his back. Maybe there were more than four surrounding him, but somehow Fayt doubted there were more than just the ones leading him along. For one, to him, the air felt thick and heavy. Currents flowed around him, currents that were of air and not of air at the same time. A small flight of fancy caught him imagining he saw those flows in brilliant golds and pinks, streams of faint yet shimmering light, but he felt it to be impossible. As soon as he caught himself thinking that way, Fayt banished the idea entirely. His head ached, and the dull throb continued in its intensity. That would be more than sufficient to allow his mind to wander where it willed, refusing him the ability to focus and formulate a plan of escape. Still, the thought wanted to persist, and he could not deny those currents of air yet not air were heavy against his body. The very essence of the powers, which were starting to feel like the flows of symbology to him, seeped into his flesh and caused his tongue to swell.

The other reason why he believed there were only four surrounding him were the rhythmic sounds of their feet as they walked. His captors wore heavy-soled boots or shoes while his feet remained bare, and they each stepped in a cadence that, if there were more of these strange people, they followed out of Fayt's hearing. In his mind, more than four marching along with him would sound like an army marching towards the battlefield.

'Maybe they are,' he mused. Memories of broken bodies, the screams of dragons, and the moans of critically wounded or dying soldiers entered, unbidden, into his mind. Mingled in were the blaring alarm klaxons, the smell of blood on dirt, and the footfalls of men and women running along metal corridors, rushing to get innocent people to safety. He'd been on vacation with his parents that time . . . he remembered the warmth of the sand slipping into his sandals as he wandered onto the private beach . . . Fayt had been on vacation this time as well, on his way to visit friends he met on his previous journeys. A strong sense of anger and resentment towards his previous experiences and his current predicament washed over him, like a wave of water coming to shore. Bitterness filled him. 'It would just be my luck. The first time I come out of hiding, and this happens.'

Perhaps it was because he couldn't see beyond the cowl covering his head. Perhaps it was because he was lost in thoughts and memories, or perhaps it was because his head ached from when he crashed on to an unfamiliar planet. It may have been a combination of all three, but Fayt wouldn't have time to think upon what happened next. A jagged-edged rock bit into his foot, and it bit deep, not only slicing the already bruised and sensitized flesh, but also gouging into muscle. The rock even lodged itself a little into his foot, increasing the intensity of the pain. Unable to help himself, Fayt cried out in shock and pain, and he stumbled towards the ground.

His captors, this time, didn't prevent his fall or ease it in the least. Fayt felt the air rushing out of his lungs the second his body hit cold, hard dirt, and he lay still, gasping for air. Pain blossomed once more in his head, and he let out a weak moan. Spots of black, white, red, and blue danced in his vision, and he teetered on the brink of losing consciousness for a second time. All coherent thought fled him in those moments, too, leaving him reeling from lack of some rather basic needs, such as food, water, and rest.

For how long he lay on the ground, panting for air and moaning from pain, Fayt didn't even want to guess. He simply wanted to curl up and close his eyes and hope everything he endured upon his initial waking to be nothing more than a bad dream. It wouldn't happen, his hopes for his immediate future, but the knowledge didn't stop Fayt from wishing for it.

As he lay on the ground, Fayt soon became aware of how his breathing eased and the pain in his body lessened. The recent offending rock to bite into him no longer resided in his foot, and he heard the rhythmic steps of one of his captors approaching him. Long, slender fingers pulled his cowl back and intertwined themselves in his hair, and Fayt blinked at the onslaught of light. By normal standards, the sun peering through a large thicket of trees would be dim, but, for the duration of his captivity, Fayt had received no indication of the time of day. He also received no chance to consider his surroundings any further. The same captor pulled on him roughly, and Fayt struggled to keep his hair from being pulled from his skull. He scrambled, as best as he possibly could, into a sitting position, but with his hands and feet bound as they were, it proved to be a difficult task at best. A strangled cry escaped him when his hip scraped against something sharp – possibly another jagged rock or stone; Fayt had long since lost count of them, and everything else he tripped and stumbled over – as his captor continued to drag him until his back came to a rest against something large, and smooth against the feel of the robe, and cool. Sweat started to cover his body from the top of his head to his toes, causing the robe to stick to him and the wound on his head to sting, and the material felt scratchier and distinctly more uncomfortable. A cup or a bowl of some kind pressed against his lips the moment his captor stopped dragging him, and the person offering the drink to him simply poured the liquid, which felt cool and like water against his parched throat, without waiting for him to begin drinking. At the same time he felt someone lifting his injured foot and remove the dirt still stuck there, with very little kindness or concern in the act if the rough grabbing and pulling were any indications. The same coloured spots from before resumed their little dance in his line of vision, mingling with the currents of the golds and pinks swirling like cosmic dust around him, and exhaustion startled to settle over him. With his hands and feet bound as they were coupled with his exhaustion and realization of his hunger and thirst, Fayt felt no strong desire to resist his captors or their rough treatment of him. He simply wanted to sit there and rest for as long as he possibly could and attempt to catch his breath.

At first, it seemed as if Fayt would receive his wish to stay for them to stay where they were and to rest. While he sat with his back propped against a cool stone, he kept his gaze on those keeping him prisoner. His initial assessment of his captors had been correct. There were only four of them. One held him by his hair, keeping a tight grip, while a second one tended to his injured foot then to the gash on his forehead. The third and fourth ones knelt to either side of him, one pouring fluids into him and the other presumably holding something for him to eat. As soon as he finished drinking, which was quickly enough – he couldn't recall when he'd last had something to drink – the bowl with the liquid disappeared, only to be replaced with some kind of mushy substance (the starchy yet slightly bland taste suggested potatoes) forcefully entering his mouth. Fayt couldn't keep up with how his captors were feeding him and giving him water.

When they were through with him, the ones tending to his injuries and feeding him took several steps away, as far as the chains attached to his shackles would allow them to go. With each step backwards, the spears Fayt recognized upon his awakening floated closer to him until they were mere inches away from him. The one still next to him relinquished his (were they male or female? Fayt couldn't tell because of their robes) grip on Fayt's hair, pulling the cowl back over his head and drawing it to his nose. Since they hadn't dragged him back to his feet, he surmised they were now taking a break for themselves before they continued to wherever it was they were heading. Fayt shifted a little, to ease the pain in his hip, and he allowed his eyes to close.

He barely felt the call of sleep coming to claim him when he found himself abruptly on his feet again and stumbling to the destination his captors intended to take him. Thus it became a routine for him; long marches for hours upon hours with breaks long enough for his captors to feed him and to tend to his wounds when they were severe enough to keep him from walking any further. Most of the time, they kept walking, handing him food, water, and some other kind of liquid to consume so they wouldn't have to stop nearly as often. He couldn't always see the sun so Fayt possessed no idea how long this journey had gone on for, but he knew there was a sun. It offered very little warmth, but Fayt knew it was there. Rain never fell from the skies during this quiet and frighteningly lonely march, which never explained why the ground felt icy cold beneath his bare feet. On occasion, a breeze stirred, sometimes cool, sometimes warm, and it rustled leaves and tree branches, tugged on his robe, but seldom brought relief to the stifling heat and scratchiness of his robe. He even heard the chittering and chirping of animals, birds, and insects. His captors never spoke a word, at least not where he could hear them, which increased his sense of vulnerability and loneliness, but Fayt figured it didn't matter, ultimately. They destroyed his communicator with his universal translator so, even if they tried to speak to him, he wouldn't understand a word spoken to him nor would they understand a word he said to them. The knowledge he couldn't communicate with his captors started to oppress Fayt, becoming tangible the longer they marched, and he couldn't help but feel as if they would be marching forever. The air around him continued to shimmer with the lights of gold and pink, helping him very little in his plight. An image of a cow being led to the slaughter entered itself in his mind on more than one occasion, and he wondered during those occasions if a cow felt the same growing trepidation that he did with each step he took.

One thing Fayt did notice was how the pain in his head from where he hit it eased gradually so that, by the time he heard the approach of more booted feet, and voices filling the air, the pain had become non-existent. The fuzziness and lightheadedness continued to persist, but Fayt couldn't be sure if they were due to the injury or due to exhaustion. Still, he refused to give in to the weariness trying to settle over him, and he desperately desired some clarity so he could form a plan of escape. Even though he couldn't trace his path back to his escape pod, he knew he could at least make the attempt. He could find a way, if given a chance, and he counseled himself to be patient. He did know how to survive in an alien wilderness. Whatever was taking place on this planet, he wanted no part of it, not if it meant the deaths of countless innocent people.

The voices grew louder with each step he and his captors took. The press of spears disappeared, and one of them removed the cowl from covering his face. Fayt squinted in the brightness of the sun, and he blinked until his eyes adjusted the light.

When he could see clearly, a cold feeling of dread settled in the pit of Fayt's stomach. Less than a dozen or so boys, no older than he and definitely human in appearance, were being led in a single file towards a large cart. Each boy, or young man, wore the same brown robe as he did, and they were bound together by a thick rope tied around their wrists. Yet, for being captive-bound, to Fayt's eyes, the young men didn't seem to mind the fact they were being herded towards some unknown destination. Many of them talked and laughed with each other as if they were friends, which to his surprise he understood what they were saying, as they walked towards the cart, and their captors, or guides or whatever they were doing with the amount of men in their possession, allowed them such pleasantries. They weren't exactly the best cared for, their robes hanging looser on them than what his did on his body, but they seemed pleased with the fate life had handed to them. Seeing them had Fayt wondering what they were wanted for and why they were bound with ropes while he was actually shackled with chains.

As they approached the carts, his captors halted, and Fayt glanced around their surroundings. There were more of the strange beings in the black robes yet only the ones guarding him were completely covered. Their cowls hung over their backs, revealing a humanoid species with elongated ears, which were bound tight to their heads with black strips of cloth. Fayt was reminded of the extinct race of Eldarians, an entire planet wiped from existence because its sun turned giant years in advance (or so Fayt had learned in his history courses – a part of him wondered what happened to the remaining Eldarians searching for another planet to live upon). Many of the Eldarian-like people were inspecting the boys before ushering them onto the cart waiting for them, and the expressions on their faces told Fayt a story of sorts. Whatever the reasons they wanted the young men for, they weren't pleased with what they were seeing. There was a quiet resignation, however, on their faces as they didn't turn away a single young man. He also noticed a few of the robed individuals approaching he and his captors. They also started to talk to his captors, their language graceful, lyrical, and . . . heavenly in nature. Fayt found he couldn't pay any more attention to the young men hopping onto the cart. He wanted to hear more of their language, to learn it, to feel what it tasted like rolling off of his tongue, and he did his best to pay attention to the sounds flowing from them as they spoke with each other. Each voice sounded masculine in nature but no less beautiful or magical. Fayt had at least one answer to one of his questions.

The ones who approached were gesturing towards him, and his captors finally broke their silence when they replied back. Fayt watched the exchange as he tried to listen so he could learn to interpret what they were saying. His clothing and his sword were handed over to the newcomers as well as the pieces of his communicator. Fayt almost mourned the loss of the device. Almost. It at least would have translated what they were saying about him, but it could have also detracted from the beauty of their language, in his mind. He continued to watch them and listen as they spoke amongst themselves. It didn't take him long to figure out why he wore shackles as opposed to the ropes binding the others. The fact he possessed a weapon made him a threat to his captors, and the newcomers nodded their heads in understanding. They then stopped speaking and glanced at him, their eyes bright and reflecting curiosity.

Something about their gazes unsettled Fayt. They were curious about him – that much he could discern and he was equally curious about them – but there was something else in their eyes, something indefinable and predatory in their gazes that left him feeling distinctly uncomfortable. The cold feeling of dread intensified as they gestured for him to be loaded onto the cart with the other young men. A rough shove was the only indication given to him to continue moving, and Fayt hesitated. He wanted to run, to flee back to his escape pod, and he backed away from the cart. His instincts were screaming at him that something about this was dangerous; he needed to flee as quickly as he could. They shoved him towards the cart yet again, and dirt filled his mouth and nose as he hit the ground. Blood trickled from his nose, and Fayt lifted his head to see an unkind and angry face staring down at him, with the butt end of a spear ready to knock him unconscious. There was loathing in the face staring down at him, and Fayt harbored no doubts that this person would not only knock him unconscious with the spear, but continue to beat him until he lay dead. He started to scramble away from his now potential attacker as the spear's end traveled towards him, struggling with his shackles the entire time and knowing they would hinder him in his escape.

The attack never came. Before the man or Eldarian, or whatever he was, could actually strike him, one of his fellows grabbed the spear and wrestled it away from him, tossing him like a leaf torn violently from a tree during a strong wind storm. Fayt watched as the one who "saved" him shouted at the would-be attacker, anger evident in his voice (Fayt had yet to see anyone with any feminine qualities), and he gestured to two other onlookers. In a matter of seconds, Fayt was back on his feet and a leather-skinned flask pressed to his lips. The coolness of the liquid teased his parched lips, and Fayt opened his mouth to drink. He didn't remember when they'd last stopped for anything, and his body was now making its protests known to him. His feet hummed a steady song of pain, his knees felt like jelly, and his mind shut down from exhaustion . . .

xxX-Swords-and-Sorcery-Xxx

When Fayt came to, the first thing he noticed was the lack of movement. He wasn't walking, and he wasn't sitting next to someone in some wooden cart, ready to be whisked away from the safety of the trees and his escape pod. His mind was still fuzzy from sleeping, and his unexpected journey felt more of a dream than an actual event. Still, he knew he hadn't been dreaming. The same lyrical language of his captors surrounded him, bathing him with a sense of excitement and celebratory nature, and it was more than a strong enough indication everything he'd endured had been real. Fayt twitched as a few things made themselves known to him.

The Eldarian-like men noticed his waking almost immediately, and they crowded around him, their voices indicating their joy. Fayt could only stare at them, uncertain of how to react to them, and it was then he noticed his nudity as well as theirs. Heat flooded his cheeks, and he squirmed, which they took as some sort of sign. Hands gently touched him on his shoulders and upper back, guiding him from his makeshift bed and into another room filled with steaming hot water, plush-looking towels, and a variety of bottles and jugs. There, they cleaned him, scrubbing away the grime, dried on blood, and sweat from his trek, and they used a soap that reminded Fayt of standing on a beach and inhaling the saltiness of the water. The heat of the water eased the remaining aches from his muscles but did nothing to alleviate his anxiety or the growing, gnawing hunger in his belly.

Once he was clean to their satisfaction, they were drying him off and placing a gold chain circlet upon his head with a gem of some kind resting in the center of his forehead. They then led Fayt into yet another room where the aromas of roasted meats and vegetables wafted up to greet them. As if to embarrass him further, Fayt's stomach rumbled loudly at the enticing scents, and the heat in his cheeks intensified. The men guiding him didn't seem to mind or even react. Instead, they guided him to a set of cushions and brought the food to him.

The morsels of food they presented to him were on the small size, able to be eaten in one bite. Since some of the meats they were giving to him to eat were quite juicy and tasty, Fayt didn't mind in the least since it meant they wouldn't drip onto him. He felt more like himself after his bath, though he still wasn't comfortable with his current surroundings or his nudity. The image of a cow being led to the slaughter no longer entered his mind, but he still felt like a sacrifice of some kind. Despite how ravenous he felt, Fayt deliberately took his time to eat the meats and breads, fruits and vegetables, and other goodies being presented to him. Some of the foodstuffs reminded him of hard cheeses like he'd consumed on Elicoor II as well as the wild berry cookies he and Albel had accidentally created before their confrontation with the Creator. There was also a beverage of some kind – it reminded Fayt of the fruity potion and the aqua potion at the same time; cool, refreshing, and revitalizing as he drank it – they offered to him. His skin tingled with each swallow, and Fayt felt his inhibitions melting away.

Finally, the other men were done allowing him to eat. Not that Fayt particularly cared. His stomach no longer growled at him, and he didn't want to become too comfortable. He couldn't be sure, but the possibility they'd just given him his last meal danced around in his thoughts. If that's what they'd done, Fayt didn't want to be too sluggish in his efforts to escape. The empty dishes and remaining food were cleared away, and the men were guiding Fayt to his feet yet again. This time, each man grabbed a candle, lit the wick, and waited while the person in the lead opened a door hidden behind a tapestry. Fayt blinked, surprised he hadn't taken notice of his surroundings sooner and cursed himself for the lack of observation. Not that it had mattered. While he could have fought his way out, they outnumbered him ten to one. They were also well fed and well rested, in complete knowledge of their surroundings whereas Fayt was not as fortunate. Idly, he wondered how long he'd been sleeping and what they'd given to him to cause him to be unconscious.

A cool breeze entered the room the moment the wall door completely opened, and the men started to leave. Two of them stood to either side of Fayt with one behind him and one in front, and, with a quiet sigh of resignation, he allowed them to lead him directly into the outside world.

Darkness still covered the land as Fayt and his "entourage" stepped outside and walked along a stone path. Unlike the icy cold ground from his earlier trek, the stones underneath his feet were smooth and warm, and Fayt said a silent prayer of thanks for such a small mercy. His feet still smarted from that trek, though the pain had lessened considerably. Around them, trees grew tall with large leaves and wide trunks. The sweet fragrances of flowers danced in what felt like an early morning breeze, and the only sounds were the songs of unseen insects. The men leading him had fallen silent yet there was no doubt their sense of excitement had remained with them. Fayt felt it as sure as he felt the breeze upon his bare skin, and he searched for any opportunity to escape whatever lay ahead of him.

The path itself wasn't too difficult to navigate. For the most part, it led in a straight line with only a single curve with a slight incline as well as a barrier of some kind dancing along the edges. The barrier wasn't an electrical one, but one formed of symbology, and Fayt noticed the ones leading him did their best to avoid touching the invisible wall. It didn't take them long to reach their destination, which happened to be a large, circular clearing. In perfect tandem with the trees forming the circle were about a dozen or so raised slabs of grey stone. They were polished and smooth in appearance. The slabs reminded Fayt of sacrificial altars, and his heart sank as he realized he was intended for one of those slabs. At the same time they were approaching, more groups of people entered the clearing, each taking a place by one of the slabs. Fayt recognized the young men he'd seen being loaded onto the cart, and he saw why his captors were initially disappointed in them. They were scrawnier than he was with no muscle development whatsoever. If he were to fight them, they wouldn't last long, even if they were able to cast spells. The young men, when they each came to a stop next to their respective slabs, glanced at Fayt, curiosity and disdain(?) in their eyes.

When each of the young men were standing next to the stone slabs, the leader of the Eldarian-like men – a tall man with a lean build, bright orange eyes, and long, dark green hair – raised up a small gong-like instrument. With his finger, he set the gong to ringing once, the sound clean and clear, and it echoed throughout the clearing. The men who'd fed and bathed him formed a circle around Fayt with the only opening being by the stone slab. They touched him on the shoulders and upper back yet again, keeping the contact as brief as they possibly could, and gestured towards the slab. One of them even nodded at him, as if to reassure him he'd be okay, and tugged on him, steering him towards the one place he didn't want to go.

At the same time they escorted him to the slab of stone, Fayt glanced around to see what the other young men were doing. He couldn't see much since they were surrounded as well, but he did notice the flows of golds and pinks entering the clearing. The flows filled the circle, swirling about the bases of the slabs and lapping at the sides like a mist, and his friendly captors maneuvered him onto the slab, helping him to lay flat on his back and gazing at the sky. They then walked away, leaving him there, unbound, and Fayt's heart started to hammer in his chest. His breathing quickened, and his skin continued to tingle.

The gong rang out for a second time, and Fayt closed his eyes to prevent his panic from taking over his senses. He drew in a deep breath to calm his nerves because he knew from experience that panicking could very well get him or someone else killed. Aside from the one Eldarian-like man, no one had really tried to harm him since his arrival and initial capture. He really possessed no clue as to what was going to happen to him, which only served to frighten him further and kick his fighting instincts into action, and he continued to draw in deep breath after deep breath.

'No!' he screamed at himself. 'No! I won't let my fear rule me. I will get out of this somehow. I just can't panic.'

He heard the shuffling of feet coming towards him, and Fayt opened his eyes. Clamping down on his fear, he willed himself to remain calm, to exude calm, and to wait until the right moment for escape presented itself. He was no weakling. He could fight his way out, if he needed. He refused to look around at the others. The last thing he wanted his memories to be of, for he was certain he'd die fighting, were the young men on the same stone slabs as he, blood pouring from their mouths as they lay dying. A young man of the same Eldarian-like nature stopped next to where Fayt lay, and he glanced at the one he believed would try to kill him.

Like Fayt, the young man wore no clothing, only the gold chain circlet around his forehead. A stone as black as onyx rested in the center of his forehead, and it matched the colour of his hair. Aquamarine-hued eyes stared at him, and he sat next to Fayt.

By appearances alone, like the others, the man next to stood around a foot or so taller than Fayt, and the Eldarian-like man possessed a lithe, slender, yet muscular form. Other than his ears and the unusual shade of his eyes, the man next to him resembled that of another human man. There was very little to the naked eye to indicate the one next to him wasn't completely human. The comparison did very little to ease Fayt's anxiety or his battle instincts, but it was there all the same.

The man reached out to him, his fingers gliding along Fayt's cheek and down his jaw, and interrupting his concentration. It was a gentle touch, one a man might give to his lover or wife, and Fayt inhaled a sharp breath, both in surprise and delight. The touch wasn't something he'd come to expect, and he couldn't deny it felt nice. Those fingers, warm and calloused yet emanating strength and dexterity, trailed from his jaw to his throat, caressing the barely visible scars along his chin and chest. They were reminders of the battles he'd fought, and he shivered in the cool, early morning air. Why he felt it was morning, Fayt couldn't say. The hour felt _early_ as opposed to late.

His captor (or was it newfound companion? The tingling of his skin caused his mind to scatter in a thousand different thoughts so he couldn't be one-hundred percent certain of anything) tilted his head the moment the shiver stole across him, and he moved closer until he hovered over Fayt. His eyes, those intense, aquamarine-coloured eyes, remained locked with Fayt's, and they gleamed with intent. Whatever he wanted from Fayt, he knew he would get it, and he believed he would get it without a fight. The gleam in his eyes told Fayt as much. A light smirk touched the other man's features as he continued to hover over Fayt and touch him with his free hand. Confused by the other man's actions and lack of a weapon, Fayt tilted his head, wondering how come the other was assured of his victory when the battle hadn't even begun.

With their gazes locked with one another's, Fayt failed to notice the position the other man took until he felt his legs being nudged apart. Heat started to radiate between them, causing a familiar ache in his body. It'd been a long time since he'd been physically intimate with another person. He'd chosen isolation after the final battle, living as far away from any kind of village or city so, when the ache for the contact made itself known, Fayt knew _how_ he'd been defeated. This time, he couldn't stop his heart from pounding or his breath from quickening. Blood rushed to every part of his body, setting him on fire. Unable to resist, Fayt moved his hands so they were touching the one above him, fingers deftly finding a battle scar or two. Feathery soft touches to his sides and to his abdomen added fuel to the fire burning within him, and Fayt arched his back for closer contact, a whimper of need escaping him in the process. Somewhere in the background, sounding as if it were in the distance, the gong rang out its clear, almost crystalline sound. Three times, the gong was struck, and the air reverberated with its music throughout the clearing. The flows from earlier rose to where he and his companion lay, washing over them, bathing them, and rising high into the sky until Fayt could no longer see them. The ringing of the gong continued to echo across the clearing and perhaps into the forest.

While the gong sounded out, the feathery touches to his side turned into set of temporary stings, much like a bee sting, only five to each side and at the same time as the other. The touch to his abdomen – more specifically, his belly button – continued to feel feathery soft, but it felt as if something were wriggling its way inside of him, and Fayt squirmed with the conflicting sensations. At the same time, the other man enveloped him with his body, one arm wrapped in a tight hug around Fayt. His engorged manhood rested snug against Fayt's hole as two deft, slickened fingers slid into him, preparing the way for something much larger. Warm flesh wrapped around Fayt's own aching erection, and he moaned as his cock was completely sheathed in a wall of firm and unyielding muscle.

By the time the echoes of the gong faded away, both of the other man's arms were around Fayt, and his face buried in Fayt's neck. Long, obviously organic tendrils poked into his sides with an unseen one tickling his insides through his belly button. A rod of rock hard flesh rested within his body as his rested within the other man, and a surge of ecstasy rode through Fayt as they lay there, entwined in each other's embrace, neither of them moving.

It felt more than nice to be held in another person's arms – it felt divine, like he'd grown wings and started to fly through the clouds. It felt like Christmas morning, knowing there'd be a pile of presents with his name on each and every one under the tree and both of his parents home to celebrate the holiday with him. It felt like a warm summer day with nothing to do but lay on a beach somewhere and enjoy the weather. Every positive experience Fayt could think of, the physical contact and pleasure he received from the other man felt exactly like it and twice as better. He whimpered and moaned as they lay there, clinging to the other and desiring more, aching for it like it would be the last time he'd ever enjoy the company of another ever again. Sweat soon covered their bodies, but Fayt didn't care. As long as they could stay as they were, he knew he would be happy. They were alone in the universe, and contentment filled him. Early morning turned into mid-morning and mid-morning into the early noon hours. Fayt felt the sun shining into the clearing, warming the air with almost a tropical heat, and it intensified the emotions coursing through him. His head and mind spun in circles, and he felt off balance. He was glad for the taut, muscular chest pressed against his, and for the musky scent of the other man.

Eventually, the sun sank into the horizon, turning day into evening, and evening into night. When the wave of emotions and pleasure wore away, it was again in the early morning hours, and the cool air caressed still heated and sensitized flesh. His partner, for what else were they in those long hours but partners, untangled himself from Fayt and stepped away. His sides burned from where the fleshy tendrils had pierced his skin and his stomach felt like doing flips, but Fayt felt sated nonetheless. The sweat covering his body chilled him, and his stomach rumbled in protest, but Fayt found that, for the moment, he didn't care. His body needed rest after such a long excursion, and rest it would do. Weariness settled in, and he curled onto his side, allowing sleep to overtake him . . .


	2. Flawed Data Must Be Eradicated?

"Evasive maneuvers!"

Cliff grit his teeth as Maria called out the command, the muscles in his back and arms tightening. He knew evasive maneuvers were necessary, but it wasn't the command itself that had him wound as tight as a child's wind-up toy. Maria led Quark, not he, which he had approved of her leadership in the first place. Her command was only a natural thing.

However, it was the reason _for_ her command that had Cliff more than a trifle annoyed. According to Marietta, the long and short-range scanners detected some anomalies in their warp field, and they immediately left gravitic warp in an effort to not destroy _The Diplo_. The ship had seen some hard times, but she'd always managed to come out in one piece. Maria wanted to keep it that way since building new ships required money, and Quark's funding had already taken a hit with losing two of its smaller vessels. Cliff didn't blame Maria one bit for wanting to preserve _The Diplo_ for as long as she possibly could. The ship had become the only home the young woman truly had known and come to love. Leaving warp with an anomaly approaching was a good way to at least help preserve the ship.

Except, in this case, keeping _The Diplo_ in one piece would prove to be a challenge. The anomalies Marietta detected weren't the average kind they could evade upon warp-out and then re-enter warp. As he grit his teeth, Cliff glared at the images on the overhead screen. Two Executioners greeted his vision as well as a sleek, white-hued spacecraft of unidentified origins. The Executioners flanked it to either side, and they were preparing to attack. Cliff could tell by the way the space in front of them started to glow, and he possessed his doubts as to how well _The Diplo_ would survive the onslaught. To deal with one Executioner was bad enough. Two . . . well, Cliff didn't really like the odds, and that was with knowing Maria's capabilities with her powers of Alteration. He didn't need to turn his head to know she was fully prepared to unleash as much of her powers as she was able. She still hadn't reached her full potential since the first time her powers manifested, but Maria was determined to not give up.

"Evasive maneuvers engaged, Captain!"

_"Stand down."_

A chilling rush overwhelmed Cliff, and he felt the blood draining from his face the moment he heard the Creator's voice. It filled the ship, sounding as if Luther stood right behind him, which, knowing the blond's capabilities as well, could have very well been possible. The two Executioners were still winding up their powers, reaching full force capacity. He remembered how one Executioner obliterated _The Aquaelie_ , leaving nothing behind but space dust.

"Like hell we're going to stand down," Maria said with a growl. "Lancar! Steeg! Ready the weapons!"

_"Then you will be destroyed. That is not something I am wishing for . . . at this moment."_

"What?" Maria sounded as astounded and confused as Cliff felt. "He's the one attacking us! You're the one attacking us, Luther!"

 _"Don't flatter yourselves too much, Data,"_ the Creator sneered. _"You're not as worth as much effort as you believe yourselves to be. I'm after someone else. You're simply . . . the means to find that someone."_

"Captain, I'm detecting two spacecrafts coming out of warp behind us . . . They're Vendeeni!"

Marietta spoke as the two Executioners unleashed their powers of Destruction. _The Diplo_ shook, tossing some of the crew out of their seats and onto the floor, and Cliff grabbed the armrests of his chair. He saw the blasts from the Executioners were parallel to _The Diplo_ but not aimed directly at her, and he knew in those scant few seconds of the attack, the Vendeeni didn't stand a chance. A bright flash of intense, white light filled the screen, blinding everyone on the bridge and disrupting Maria's flows to her symbological powers. When the light dissipated, the Executioners and the white ship remained.

 _"Such nuisances,"_ Luther said in a muttered tone. _"The Eldarians and Morphus are preferable to such disobedient data."_

"Status report," Maria called out. Immediately, the crew flew into a frenzy, assessing the damage to the ship and their fellow teammates.

"Minor damage sustained, Captain," Marietta said. "Shields are down to eighty-nine percent, but we're otherwise okay."

 _"I told you I was not out to destroy you as of this moment,"_ Luther said in a smug tone. _"You really should learn to trust your Creator."_

"Like that'll ever happen," Maria fired back. "What is that you want, anyway? You said you were looking for someone."

 _"Yes. I am looking for someone, and you will tell me what you know if you wish to continue existing,"_ Luther said. _"I seek the data known as Fayt Leingod. I understand he was to meet you and some others at the Hyda IV location."_

"Fayt?" Maria echoed. "Why are you after Fayt? And how did you know he was supposed to meet us there? Where's the ship that was transporting him?"

 _"If I knew where the ship was, I would not need you,"_ Luther said, his tone flat and void of any emotion. _"The data known as Fayt would be with me. I was waiting at the Hyda IV location when word came in the transport ship had disappeared in this location. I came to investigate."_

"You didn't attack the ship?" Cliff asked, unable to help himself. Luther's image replaced that of the Executioners and the white ship on the overhead screen. His blue eyes were as cold as ever.

_"No. I have need of Fayt Leingod alive, not dead."_

"Again, why are you after Fayt?" Maria asked, keeping her voice cool, calm, and collected. Cliff allowed himself to relax, only a fraction, and he leaned back in his chair. Sometimes, he forgot he no longer led Quark. He'd take whatever reprimand Maria had for him later.

 _"Because, unlike the current Executioners program, Fayt Leingod is perfect for eradicating flawed data such as yourselves,"_ Luther replied. _"Once he is in my possession, I will begin the process anew again of eliminating anomalies such as yourselves."_

"Fayt would never allow you to do such a thing!" Maria said. "Nor will I!"

_"You speak as if you and he will have a choice in the matter."_

"Fayt will fight you," Maria said. "I know that he will."

 _"Perhaps he will. Perhaps he won't."_ Luther smirked. _"We would have to find him first, now wouldn't we?"_

"Find him . . . What . . ."

_"It would stand to reason he is still alive, yes? The transport ship to Hyda IV came under attack at some point while en route to the planet. Wouldn't it make sense for the passengers to be loaded into escape pods so they wouldn't die? Or would Fayt Leingod be foolish enough to remain on board?"_

"Nnn . . ."

 _"Ahh, you're just now realizing the impact of what I'm saying,"_ Luther said, his smirk growing bigger and his smugness more evident. _"Perhaps your capabilities of learning aren't as limited as I once believed for data. No matter. How about a . . . friendly wager? To make this more interesting?"_

"A . . . friendly wager? Nothing about you is friendly," Maria spat.

 _"I would say you wound me with your arrogance, but I think it is you who feels more wounded,"_ Luther murmured. _"Well, if you are not up for the challenge of finding someone you claim to be your friend, I do understand. And I shall be sure to tell him, when I do find him, of how you really feel about him."_

"He wouldn't believe you."

 _"So certain are you? Then you won't mind taking me up on my challenge of finding him,"_ Luther said. _"Whoever finds him first gets to keep him."_

"That should be entirely and will be up to Fayt!"

_"Not if I find him first."_

Luther's image disappeared from the overhead screen, showing the crew on the bridge only the white ship and the two Executioners. The white ship's engines fired up, and the Executioners glided by _The Diplo_. Luther then flew his vessel over their heads, and everyone on the bridge ducked out of reflex. The engines of his ship sent vibrations along the hull of _The Diplo_ , and, when the sound disappeared, everyone on the bridge let out a collective sigh of relief . . . except, perhaps Maria.

"Marietta, I want Luther's ship's energy trail traced, and I want it done like yesterday. Find out if what Luther said about the transport shuttle being destroyed is true. There has to be some kind of scuttlebutt about a missing ship and its passengers," Maria said. Cliff finally turned his chair around to face her. "And, if we can, we need to try and contact Blair. I have a feeling that, if Luther's correct, he already knows where Fayt is, and we won't have much time to reach him."

"On it, Captain," Marietta replied. Maria turned her gaze to Cliff.

"I hope we can find him in time," she said. "I don't want to follow him . . . I want to follow my own leads, but . . ."

"Hey," Cliff said, "Luther's a genius. He's insane, but he is a genius. I wouldn't doubt it if he's set a trap for us. He's admitted he wants to destroy us."

"So why wait to do it, especially if he knows where Fayt is?" Maria asked. "It doesn't make any sense."

"Unless he's going to follow us because he really doesn't know where Fayt is," Cliff supplied. He rubbed at his temples, the beginnings of a headache coming on to him. "We really can't say with Luther, can we?"

"No," Maria agreed solemnly. "We can't."

"Captain, Luther's heading in the direction of Elicoor II," Marietta said. "At least, that's where it appears he's heading. What do you want to do?"

"We can't let him run loose . . ."

"But we also don't have a cutter to spare," Cliff said.

"I know," Maria said, moaning, and she buried her face into her hands. "Ugh, why did this have to happen and now, of all times?"

For several long minutes, Cliff watched Maria, and she raised her head from her hands to stare at the monitor. Her expression turned from one of anguished torment to unreadable. He knew he didn't envy her the leadership position. While he knew what _he'd_ do in her place, it still didn't mean he wouldn't have felt the same agony.

"Maria . . ."

She tilted her head in his direction.

"Let's worry about Luther later," Cliff said, mentally cringing with each word he spoke. Still, it was something that couldn't ultimately be helped. Somewhere, Fayt floated in an escape pod. He might have already landed on a habitable planet and simply waited for someone to come and find him. "Right now, Fayt is our top priority. We don't know where he is, what condition he's in, or anything. I spent more time with him than you did. If he's on an underdeveloped planet and trouble's brewing, he'll end up right smack dab in the middle of it. He's like a trouble magnet that way, and the last thing I want is for him to be killed because he's sympathetic to those who he befriends."

"Yeah . . ." Maria agreed with some reluctance. "You're right. Fayt is more important. Besides, if the transport ship was destroyed in this area, as he claims it was, Luther will be back to this area to retrieve Fayt. Marietta . . ."

"Yes, Captain?"

"Destroyed ships tend to leave behind debris and remnants of energy. Start searching for any kind of an energy signature. Also, find out the name of the transport ship that was carrying Fayt to Hyda IV. The more we know, the better off we'll be in determining if there's any truth to what Luther's told us." Maria turned towards Steeg. "Steeg, I want some probes set up in the general vicinity so when Luther does return, we know about it before he can surprise us."

"Roger that," Steeg said.

"I'm on it, Captain," Marietta said.

"Mirage?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"I want to know what habitable planets are nearby," Maria said. "Escape pods are programmed automatically to land on the nearest one and emit a distress signal, as should his communicator. We're going to operate as if what Luther told us is true, and we need to find Fayt before he returns from Elicoor II. Though I want to find out _why_ he's heading there instead of looking for Fayt."

"Will do, Captain," Mirage said.

"That's easy," Cliff said. "Just contact Elicoor II to let them know to expect Luther. We _did_ teach Nel, Claire, and Albel how to use the communicators we left them."

"We did . . ." Maria paused for a second then nodded. "Contact them, Cliff. Let them know about Luther heading in their direction but not about Fayt or his disappearance. Until we're sure that Luther's telling us the truth about the ship and Fayt being on it, I don't want to start any false rumours."

"On it," Cliff said, turning back to his station. He couldn't help but frown as he set about completing his task. The confrontation with Luther and two of his Executioners wasn't sitting well with him. It felt too easy to escape, as it were, with very minimal to no damage to _The Diplo_ , especially with Luther knowing _who_ was onboard. The Creator could have easily destroyed them as he had the Vendeeni. Something was _not_ right.

'Fayt, wherever you are, I hope you're staying out of trouble. If not, you're going to have _me_ to answer to for whatever it is you're doing.'

xXx-Swords-and-Sorcery-xXX

Luther sighed as he powered off the communications console, sending the entire area into soothing darkness, and he leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his temples. He despised being stuck in the Eternal Sphere the way that he was, only able to access the computers from his Workspace, but then, in retrospect, it was rather fitting. He'd been foolish to even attempt deleting the Eternal Sphere while he remained projected in it. Hell, he hadn't been projected in it, like Blair had believed, but actually able to walk amongst the inhabitants. Luther hadn't told her that, and it suited him just fine.

His head ached. It always ached, and his eyes watered with even the smallest amount of light because of it. Some days it felt like thousands of feet running from the left side to the right and back again, feet wearing metal-soled shoes and stomping as hard as possible with each step. On other days, the ache simply felt like an oversized sledgehammer pounding away at his brain. No one in his realm knew of how to cure the headaches when they set upon him. The doctors there were useless in his opinion, anyway, but still he had deigned to hope at least one could help him with such a trivial yet debilitating problem. He hated how powerful his headaches could be and how they affected his ability to work and to think in a rational manner. He hated even more the knowledge that every doctor he'd visited, often at Blair's insistence, had proven to be useless in his efforts to thwart the pain. Too much at Sphere 211 depended upon him having a clear, focused, and pain-free mind. While he did employ several of the best gaming programmers throughout the entire four-dimensional realm, no program or line of code for the Eternal Sphere went into action without Luther checking over it first and giving his express permission for it to be put into use for the Eternal Sphere MMORPG. In looking back at the events leading up to the battle with his creations, Luther realized the creation of Fayt Leingod had ultimately been his doing. From the moment he wrote the codes for Fayt, he'd given the other the powers of Destruction and watched idly as those powers were enhanced by Professor Leingod and his research team. Everything about the blue-haired man had been because Luther wanted it, desired it, and needed it. He just hadn't realized it when the final battle had arrived, but one thing that he hadn't failed to notice was how his head had cleared of any and all pain the moment the abhorrent data walked into his Workspace. Since then, he'd wanted to know _which_ of the three biggest anomalies had contributed to the easing of his pain. Even wandering in the Eternal Sphere felt better on his head than sitting in his office at Sphere 211.

In order to find which one, the first thing Luther had done was track down each of them. Like the fools they were, they had entered their DNA imprints into the Eternal Sphere database while at Gemity. Luther discovered this during his recovery, which enabled him to track down where they were at all times. The first one he'd decided to visit was the one known as Sophia Esteed. She'd demonstrated great symbological powers, greater than what either Maria Traydor and Fayt Leingod possessed, and he thought her to be, at first, the greater threat. It was because of her powers, he learned, that the anomalies were able to enter the four dimensional realm. Tracking her had been the easiest to do as well. She'd returned to Earth, to her family, and to her life with very little side effects from traveling across the universe in order to fight him.

Disguising himself as a faculty member to the high school she attended, Luther approached her as closely as he dared without tipping her off as to who he was. His head, which ached constantly anyway, showed no signs of relief at being in her presence, and, while it annoyed him that the pain in his head hadn't disappeared, it relieved him to know it wasn't Sophia Esteed. She came across as a sweet girl, but she lived too much in a fantasy world for Luther's liking.

With Sophia ruled out, Luther set out to find the next one, Fayt Leingod. According to the data Luther had on hand, Fayt had just boarded a transport vessel intended for the luxury getaway of Hyda IV. The planet had finally recovered from the Vendeeni attack and was accepting visitors once more. According to what he'd watched on the screen, Fayt had agreed to meet with some of the others for a reunion of sorts. Then the ship taking him there had fallen under attack. Like many of the other tourists, he'd made it to an escape pod. Unlike the others, he'd not been picked up by the new Pangalactic Federation, having crashed on an underdeveloped planet. With the pod and his communicator destroyed, no one knew where he was or what had befallen him, but Luther knew.

Since Fayt wasn't going anywhere for a while – probably never again, since he'd participated in the Morldarian transfer ritual – Luther decided to wait to get close to the younger man. As the Creator, he could head to Morldaria any time he wished and get as close to Fayt as he wanted. That left Maria Traydor, and, though he hadn't been on the bridge of _The Diplo_ to be close enough to her, simply hearing her voice over the communications console had grated on his nerves and did nothing to lessen his headache. That left Fayt Leingod.

'Ironic,' he mused. 'I am the Creator, and he is the embodiment of Destruction. We are exact opposites in terms of power. Why is it him? Why is he the one who can ease my pain and allow me to think clearly?'

They were questions he intended to get answers for, but there was one thing he wanted to do first. The Morldarians were an unusual species, a hybrid race between the Morphus and presumed extinct Eldarian races, and every single member was male with a very unique feature. With Fayt among them and Luther's status as the Creator still intact with them, there were many things Luther knew he could do and promised to do. He simply needed to get some familiar faces back into the action, faces that, while affected by the likes of Fayt, Maria, and Sophia, were ones he was quite fond of in any case. For that, he needed to return to Elicoor II, where everything started and ended, to retrieve the ones he wanted. He just needed for those in Quark to think a little while longer that he intended to eradicate them.

'This will be fun.'

xXx-Swords-and-Sorcery-xXx

Fayt coughed one final time as he finished emptying the contents of his stomach into the wooden bucket designated for just that purpose. It felt strange, to be vomiting when he didn't feel the least bit sick otherwise, but it was happening just the same. He waited for several minutes after the last bout before finally trusting himself to stand without another wave of nausea hitting him. Holding out a hand to keep himself steady and picking up the bucket to clean it out, Fayt exited what constituted as a bathroom and bathhouse, which did have a porcelain tub large enough to hold six or seven people with some room to spare and deep enough for a person to simply soak up the heat.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed since he'd crashed on . . . whatever planet he'd happened to be, but he knew since the night of that strange ceremony many days had passed, enough to be weeks on Earth. The one he'd been with that evening had spoken to three others after they'd awoken from their slumber, men older than him and one whom he bore a strong resemblance. He'd spoken to them with respect and admiration. Whoever they were, they were clearly important to him, and he agreed with what they were telling him. Whatever it was they were discussing, Fayt could tell by the way they gestured towards him that he was the subject matter. Once the conversation was over, he was led away by the three older men, and he'd lived with them since that day. Already, he'd deduced that the three elders were lovers of some kind. The touches, the smiles, the laughter, all told Fayt what he needed to know, and he knew they were a family unit of sorts. In addition to them living in the house – a very expansive, single story home with many rooms, several of which were dedicated to books and weapons and training – another, much younger male lived with them, and they treated him as if he were their son. However, Fayt hadn't seen the one he'd slept with since the day after the ritual, and he wondered about it.

The clothes they chose to wear were also another indication about them and what they did. The one who greatly resembled the man he'd been with often wore armor. It wasn't the simple leather armor of others Fayt had come across since his arrival, either. The armor itself was burnished black steel with black leather holding it together in all of the right places. A bird emblazoned in silver flames rested across the chest region, and those he spoke to, others who were obvious warriors as well, treated him with the same respect Fayt had witnessed previously.

The other two older men didn't wear armor. Indeed, the garb for the one reminded Fayt of a wizard's robe. Dark blue in color, flowing, they opened in the front to reveal pants and a tunic of the same color, and there were several pouches of various sizes that he kept at his side. When he walked around the city where they lived, he carried a staff nearly as tall as he, smooth, and with inscriptions on the side. The other wore all white from his tunic and pants to his soft leather boots, and a gold chain with a dragon hanging from it around his neck. Each of them were dark-haired with intense dark eyes and tall. Yet, since the day of the ritual and taking Fayt back to where they lived, they showed him nothing but kindness. The one in white often checked on him in the mornings, especially after the sickness had started. If Fayt had to guess as to their professions, he'd have said the one in blue was definitely a wizard, or symbologist, and the other a cleric of some kind. The youngest member of the household wore the color white as well in the same style as the older man. As for Fayt, they provided clothes for him, tunics and pants of the softest materials that reminded him of a baby's blanket, and a pair of leather of sandals. The chain upon his head remained as well. They allowed him to remove it when he cleaned himself and washed his hair, but otherwise they refused to let him take it off.

Within the first few days of that ceremony or ritual or whatever it had been, the strange sickness had fallen upon him. It hit him only in the mornings and whatever feelings of weakness and nausea that beset upon him during that time disappeared as the day progressed. When the white-clad man checked on him, he'd frowned at first but then looked pleased as the examinations continued. At one point since the sickness started, he'd brought a clear stone and held it for several minutes in front of Fayt's stomach. In those few minutes, the stone turned from clear and able to see through to an opaque aquamarine. Since that day, Fayt had been given more than plenty to eat and drink, which said something and for which he was grateful. The three men had always given him plenty of food and water to drink upon his arrival, but, as of late, he felt hungrier than usual. The increase in his appetite worried and confused him. For the most part, he didn't exert himself all that much. He accompanied the symbologist and cleric or one of the servants when they headed into the city proper to buy food, ink, quills, parchment, herbs, and anything else they required, but the markets streets weren't that far from the house nor were the trips that taxing. He'd lived in isolation for some time, traversing more difficult terrain than he currently experienced. The increase in his appetite baffled him.

"Hello."

Fayt nearly dropped the bucket he carried out of the bathhouse at hearing such a soft-spoken voice. Startled, he looked for the source. With the exception of the other humans he encountered, young men from a local village, no one had spoken the same language as him, and to hear it without the benefit of a translation device was more than a surprise. Standing outside the bathhouse was the youngest member of the household. He smiled with kindness at Fayt as he exited.

"H-hello," he said back. "How . . ."

"Humans have been on this planet for many centuries, as they like to say," the young man said. "According to the history tomes, we were able to communicate with them for some time until something happened, and the barriers were erected. We learned the language in order to speak with them after that."

"Oh . . . that makes sense." Fayt stood there. "How come you waited so long to talk to me?"

"It is customary to allow guests such as yourself a chance to become comfortable in new surroundings," he said. "My lahrljah and fathers have been monitoring your progress, and they are quite pleased with it. I would ask if those in your village have given you a name to go by, but we were informed the moment you were chosen for my brother that you do not hail from the Green. Do you have a name?"

"Yes," Fayt replied with a nod. "It's Fayt Leingod."

"Fayt . . . Leingod?" He tilted his head, his expression one of thoughtful curiosity. "Most from the Green only have one name . . . you are indeed unusual, Fayt Leingod."

"Fayt will be fine," he said. "And what's your name?"

"Ah, yes. How silly of me to forget." He smiled. "I am Cruen of the House of the Silver Phoenix, Black Storm, and Golden Dragon, and my lahrljah has instructed for me to retrieve you. It is time for your lessons to begin. That is, if you are finished?" His eyes traveled to the bucket.

"I think so . . . it just needs to be cleaned out."

"I shall wait then."

It didn't take long for Fayt to clean out the bucket and return it to the bathhouse. Cruen waited with patience for him then led him to one of the larger rooms of the house. As they walked, Fayt wondered what he'd meant by lessons. He opened his mouth to ask, but the walk to where his lahrljah waited for them didn't take very long. His lahrljah, the older man who wore white to signify his cleric status, waited for them in one of the larger rooms of the house. One wall was covered by shelves, each filled with books and scrolls. Several maps decorated another while tapestries covered the remaining two. In the center of the room was a long, circular table with eight chairs. Cruen's lahrljah smiled at Fayt as they entered the room.

"Greetings, my young friend," he said. "I trust you are feeling well?"

"Yes," Fayt said. "Thank you for asking."

"Has Cruen asked for your name?"

"Yes," Fayt answered. "It's Fayt Leingod."

"Fayt Leingod . . . unusual . . . no matter . . . I am Drovah of the House of the Silver Phoenix, Black Storm, and Golden Dragon. I will be instructing you while you are here."

"Instructing me?"

"Yes," Drovah replied. "Instructing you. I will be teaching you to read and to write."

"To read and write? Your language, right?"

"No." Drovah shook his head. "Your language. It is far more basic than our language and writing system."

"But . . ." Fayt frowned, puzzled. "I already know how to read and write. I learned how by the time I was four years old."

Surprise registered on Drovah's face, surprise and disbelief.

"I have not seen you lift up a book or a scroll to read," he said after a few moments. "And there are plenty written in the human tongue for you to have done so."

"I can't read without glasses," Fayt said. "It's been that way since I was about fifteen or sixteen years old. My mom and dad were the same way."

"Mawm? What is that?" Drovah asked.

"The woman who gave birth to me . . ." Fayt tilted his head. "Who else?"

"Is a wooman like a lahrljah?" Cruen asked. His question seemed to be more directed at Drovah, who was as equally confused.

"It sounds like it," Drovah replied.

"What is a lahrljah?" Fayt asked. Drovah's attention returned to him, still confused, but then he smiled and shook his head.

"What an interesting situation this is," he said. "The Kohvahn said you were different from the others they gathered. Perhaps we should start towards the beginning. You see, I am a lahrljah. A lahrljah is one who bears a child. All Morldarians are able to become lahrljah, and it has been this way for many hundreds of years. Cruen is my child, sired by my partner, Mek. He is what you would call a fighter, a warrior . . . and he is one of the highest ranking warriors in our city."

"Okay," Fayt said, nodding. Since he'd yet to see any females and hearing that words like mom and woman confusing the two Morldarians in the room, what Drovah told him made sense. It was a little creepy since it wasn't a concept he was used to encountering, but he couldn't expect alien races to be like humans. Drovah's smile grew a little, but not with amusement. If anything, it was that of pleasure and excitement at how quickly Fayt was picking up on what he was saying. "So the one I was with that one night is your child."

"You understand. This is good," he said. "And, yes. Fahl is my child as well, but I am not his lahrljah. Mek is his lahrljah and I his sire. He, I, and our other partner, Biknha, have each become lahrljah throughout our lives. You are lahrljah, too, Fayt."

"What?"

The words felt like a ton of stones falling on top of Fayt. He thought that perhaps he hadn't heard Drovah correctly.

"You are lahrljah . . . at least for a short while," Drovah said. "The ceremony you were in with Fahl, it is a transfer ceremony. It is one we've practiced in times of war for the last few hundred years, or at least since the humans came to our planet."

"And they let you do this?" Still shocked by the revelation, Fayt couldn't even determine how he felt. Overwhelmed was the only thing that entered his mind.

"The Kohvahn travel to the villages along the edges of the forests," Drovah said. "They seek out volunteers. They know what it is that we've asked of them."

"But no one told _me_!" Fayt wanted to shout at Drovah, but something told him it wouldn't do any good. "No one _asked_ me anything! And how can you say that they were asked? All of them were bound when I first saw them!"

"Perhaps he shouldn't have been involved," Cruen said. "The other humans _were_ asked."

"He wasn't asked because he was taken as a prisoner," a deep voice said. With his heart leaping in his chest, Fayt whirled around to see who had spoken and stumbled backwards. In the doorway stood Mek, his arms crossed. He didn't look angry, but he didn't look happy, either. "Believe it or not, Drovah, I spoke with the Kohvahn who brought him to us, and they told me where they found him. He arrived to our country in a strange vessel, and he was armed. According to the one, he tried to escape, but the others believed he reacted to what he was seeing out of fear." His gaze landed on Fayt. "It is a fact you were found with a weapon, is it not?"

"I won't deny that I had a sword," Fayt said.

"That is good then," Mek said, "for it is in my possession until we can determine whether or not you are a precursor to an attack. It could be you've had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but no one wishes to take that chance. We are already at war, and we do not wish to lose more of our children. The rest of your metal chariot is being dismantled as we speak. The Kohvahn, because of your blade alone, weren't even going to consider you for the ceremony. _They_ had wished to send you to the slumlos, and believe me when I say that it would not have bode well for you if they had gotten their wish."

"I remember this part of the conversation with the Kohvahn," Drovah murmured. "Mek is correct, Fayt. The slumlos is no place for a human. It isn't even a place for Morldarians. Those in the slumlos are there for heinous crimes, and they are treated worse than animals. You would not have had much rest or food."

"Drovah believes that you are not a threat to us and I believe in him," Mek continued. "He, Biknha, and I were able to persuade the Kohvahn to enter you into the ceremony. You are able to wield a weapon. That was a factor in choosing you for Fahl."

"I could have fought," Fayt said. His voice choked with tears and anger. He understood that what they'd done was to save him from what sounded like a horrible fate, but he still couldn't believe what they were telling him, either. He? Carrying a child? It was preposterous!

"Against Fahl? Or in our war?" Mek asked. "Because we watched the ceremony, as is our custom. Out of the humans gathered, you not only seemed to know what he was doing to you but enjoyed it as well. As for the war . . ." He shook his head. "While we do not prohibit humans from owning weapons to protect their villages in times such as these, we would much rather keep and protect them from the horrors of this current one. Consider it a source of pride on our part, our desire to protect our lands as much as we possibly can without the aid of humans. They are also not like you, Fayt. While they know enough to survive as long as they have and to raise young, they don't have the same kind of intelligence as you."

Rage coursed through Fayt as Mek spoke. He clenched his hands, and he turned his head way from the Morldarian. The entire situation sickened him, more than what he could say. They had taken any choices he might have had away from him simply because he'd been found with a sword and deemed a threat. From the corner of his eye, he saw Mek approach him. The older man then knelt so they were nearly eye level, and he grasped Fayt's chin so they were looking at each other.

"I am very certain you understand why we have done what we have done," he said in a soft voice. "That much I can see in your eyes. I do not expect for you to forgive us for wanting to keep you away from the slumlos, but I will not tolerate any disobedience from you over this, either. You are lahrljah now and a guest in our home until the time comes when this war is over and our child returns to alive and well."

"I don't have to like it," Fayt said, sullen. Mek actually smiled a little at his words.

"For now, you don't like it," he murmured. "But as you feel the child within you growing, I am sure your mind will change. I know I did for my first child. And you do not strike me as the type who would hate a child for any reason."

Fayt didn't believe him, didn't want to believe him, but the older man was correct. It wasn't in his nature to hate anyone for any reason. He didn't even hate Luther for his attacks on the Eternal Sphere. It had taken him some time, but he'd started to understand why both his father and the Creator had acted as they had, and there was something more. He couldn't say if anyone else had noticed, but he thought that Luther was in some kind of pain before they'd entered his Workspace. If he could find it in himself to eventually understand and start forgiving Luther and his father for what they'd done, then Fayt knew this situation would be no different.

"I am right," Mek murmured. "I can see it in your eyes. It was the correct decision, pairing you with Fahl."

"Yeah," Fayt said, almost in a whisper. "You're right . . . it's just . . . a lot to take in . . ."

"For most human lahrljahs, it is," Drovah said. "I would not expect you to be any different, though yours, by far, has been the angriest reaction I've ever seen."

"Don't they usually say it's the woman's job or something like that?" Fayt asked, wiping at his eyes. He didn't know when he'd started to cry, but the tears were there all the same.

"That's just it . . . there are none," Mek said. He stood up. "The only humans we ever see in the villages are the men and young boys. Infants appear, but, as far as we have observed, no one is lahrljah. They only become lahrljah when they participate in the ceremonies, and, even then, we do not ask all of them. It is strange how it is they are able to survive at all."

"You mean by how skinny they look?"

"If you mean underfed, then yes," Mek said. "They are healthy, but not nearly healthy enough. You are the healthiest human we have ever seen. Because we paid the Kohvahn to not take you to the slumlos, we were more than fortunate to obtain you, as it were. I am sure it sounds insulting to you, to think of being paid for, but it is how it goes."

It _was_ insulting to hear, even though Fayt knew the reasons were to keep him from being tortured. However, as insulting as it was to hear he'd been paid for to become a lahrljah, it disturbed Fayt even more to hear that the humans on this planet were struggling to get by when the Morldarians were obviously thriving as a culture.

"How come you don't do anything to help them?" he asked.

"The humans? We do what we can for them," Mek answered. "According to our history tomes and scrolls, the ones that have survived the course of time, we enjoyed quite friendly relations with the humans shortly after their arrival to our planet, and their population thrived as much as ours. But then we were invaded by the Shiva clans to the far south. It was an attack no one had seen coming, and, as such, despite our best efforts to protect the humans, most of them were killed in the fighting."

"The Shiva clans ignored our fighters at one point," Drovah added. "It led to an advantage for our ancestors, but the damage had already been done. Because the invaders ignored our people in favor to attack the humans, those who survived, weren't able to trust us. Though we have tried over the years to repair that kind of damage, they still mistrust us. We do trade goods with them and offer them medicines to care for their young, but it's about all we can do."

"Do they hide the women then or something?" Fayt asked. Mek and Drovah spoke with such earnest honesty on the matter, and he felt compelled to believe them.

"We have never seen any woomen either in or out of the village," Mek answered. He then inhaled a deep breath. "Some of the mistrust isn't just on the part of the humans, Fayt. Some of it is on our part as well. There are many things that have happened between our two races since the arrival of humans, and we have had to take precautions in order to ensure we are not wiped out by a surprise attack. I will not say just yet how it is we have done so, but know this . . . whether the humans realize it or not, we do monitor their village, to be sure all is well with them. The only ones we ever see are the men and the young boys. There are no woomen . . . we don't even know what one looks like, and, until you just told us, we have never even heard of them."


End file.
